The Hero's Brother: Tournament Tableau
by The Magicians Wish
Summary: AU of all books. Seen as a social outcast at best and a functional sociopath at worst, this year at Hogwarts will bring much unwanted mystery and excitement into Harry Potter’s life.
1. Chapter 1

The Hero's Brother: Tournament Tableau

Author: The Magicians Wish

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. All belongs to J.K. Rowling

Summary: Seen as a social outcast at best and a functional sociopath at worst, this year at Hogwarts will bring much unwanted mystery and excitement into Harry Potter's life.

Warnings: Violence, child abuse, language, mature themes, mentions of SLASH. No pairings yet.

Rating: M

* * *

**Prologue **

Up in a moderately sized tree, an adolescent robin, plumage newly grown, hopped from foot to foot nervously on the edge of a branch, preparing to take his first flight. His mother and sibling warbled encouragement from their place in the nest, but this did little to get the bird going. Soon the father swooped in with a thick grub trapped in his beak, and after feeding the nested baby joined in with the rest of his family in cheering their chick on. With such staunch support behind him, the little bird gave a few experimental hops before plunging off the branch and taking flight.

Harry Potter smiled a soft, imperceptible smile at the peaceful scene. The robin circled once around the tree before landing in his nest, not quite bold enough to go any farther. Regardless, the little bird seemed proud of his achievement and puffed out his chest as his mother preened him and his father and brother chirped their congratulations. Ah, if only human families could be so compassionate, Harry thought wistfully. Other people would probably find it odd that he envied the familial bonds between a bunch of silly birds, but if anyone were to know of his travesty of a home life they'd be far more understanding of his jealousy.

"Boy!" The banshee like screech caused Harry to wince and grit his teeth. "Get in here! Get in here _immediately!_"

Harry placed the gardening tools he had been using neatly into the bucket beside the door and then slipped out of his shoes before entering through the back door and into the kitchen.

_Smack!_

Harry's head whipped to the side, but other than that his expression showed neither the surprise nor the sting of pain that the sudden slap to his face caused.

He turned to his Aunt Petunia Dursley, the deliverer of the smack, and asked with perfectly polite curiosity: "You called Mrs. Dursley?"

Mrs. Dursley merely shoved a gloved finger into his face. There was a bit of dirt smudged on the tip, and Harry immediately knew what the problem was. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to rectify it without getting into deeper trouble. "Well?" She finally hissed after the tense silence stretched too long. "Explain _this!_"

Petunia Dursley was a germaphobe to the extreme. And as the unwilling house keeper of the Dursley family, Harry was expected to keep up with his Aunt's impossible standards of cleanliness.

Or else.

Just today Harry had washed all the dishes, mopped the floor, and cleaned and disinfected every inch of the rest of the kitchen; including the stove, the inside of the cupboards, and all of the food that was canned or boxed…

Three times.

But apparently he'd missed a spot.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Dursley. I must have –"

"Tried to get away with doing only the bare minimum of your chores," Mrs. Dursley barked. "You horrible, dirty little thing! Just like your father with your tricks and lies. Well, I can see through them all you good for nothing…"

Harry tuned out the rest of the rant, having heard it all before. Instead he lamented on the end of his winning streak. And he'd been doing so well this past weak too! It was unusual to not be yelled at even if he did a good job, but up until now the Dursley matriarch hadn't had anything to say about a single room in the house.

And seeing her unable to come up with any nasty criticisms was as close to praise as Harry would ever get.

"…won't pull the wool over my eyes you little hellion! Now stand over there against the wall and take off your shirt!"

Harry did as he was told without protest, but inwardly he was quite nonplussed. Just to make sure Mrs. Dursley was really about to do what she was about to do, he peaked over his shoulder, and to his dismay saw her rifling through the broom cupboard and coming out with a polished walking stick. The stick used to be apart of his cousin Dudley's school uniform before they were banned on account of the students using them to whack each other's brains out.

Since then the Dursley's had used the old stick as a disciplinary measure against Harry.

And while Harry could admit (being the victim and all) that his relatives were abusive at the best of times, and down right disturbed sadists at the worst, even _he_ thought it was a bit much to get a beating over a speck of dust! Muddy foot prints, sure. Canned foods not sorted alphabetically or turned facing forward, yeah, he could see Mrs. Dursley going ballistic over that. But a measly speck…?

"I cannot _believe_ you would _dare_ be impudent right before my afternoon tea with Victoria Nazbit!" Mrs. Dursley hissed while frantically spraying disinfectant over the stick before wiping it down.

'Ah, of course! How could I have forgotten?' Harry mentally bemoaned. Today was Petunia's Afternoon Tea Party – a little get together Mrs. Dursley hosted every other Tuesday with several other select house wives around the neighborhood. Today was a day where Mrs. Dursley would accept nothing less than perfection, and something like a speck of dust would not be tolerated.

"…Ten! No! Eighteen strokes! Clearly we've been _far_ too lenient with you lately!"

Well, there was no use in self recriminating. He was going to pay for this mistake and all he could do was brace himself –

_THWACK!_

A small gasp escaped his lips as he flinched minutely. Nearly fourteen years of living with the Dursley's, and the first blow always caught him off guard.

"Count!" Mrs. Dursley snapped. _Spritz, spritz, spritz,_ went the sound of the spray bottle as she coated the stick once more with disinfectant.

"One," Harry replied, voice normal, not even a hint of strain. He could've been discussing the weather. Mmm, it was rather nice outside for summer. Sunny, but with a cool breeze…

_THWACK….spritz, spritz, spritz._

"Two."

_THWACK…spritz, spritz, spritz._

"Three…" The welts on his back split open as Mrs. Durlsey struck the same spot with inhuman like accuracy. The disinfectant soon formed a cloud and made contact with Harry's wounds, causing the ordeal to be even more agonizing.

But still Harry made no sound other than the counting. Years of careful conditioning from Mrs. Dursley had seen to that.

"Twelve." Harry's arms and legs felt like rubber. It probably wouldn't much please Mrs. Dursley if he fell unconscious at that moment. Not because it would disrupt his punishment (Mrs. Dursley severely disliked not finishing what she started and during those occasions when Harry had passed out he would awaken to her still beating him), but because she would take it as him being cheeky and disrespectful.

"Fourteen…" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He only had to stand this torture for a little while longer, just a little while longer…

The front door banged open. Stomping footsteps followed until the intruder reached the kitchen door and swung it open with the same carelessness.

"Mum! Where are you! I wanna – " Dudley Dursley, Harry's cousin, started to demand before cutting himself off. As he was still facing the wall, Harry could only assume he had paused because of what he had walked in on. Dudley had always been funny about Harry's more hands on punishments, far from the righteous satisfaction that it gave Uncle Vernon.

"Diddy-dums!" Mrs. Dursley squealed, going from torturer to doting mother in a split second. "I didn't expect you home so early. I thought you were going to be playing with your friends after boxing practice?"

"I - I am. We're gonna meet in the park in an hour to fly our remote control airplanes. And – and I was gonna ask if you could get me a new one?" he added hurriedly.

"Oh but, Duddums," Mrs. Dursley's simpering voice was now hesitant; "didn't we just buy you one a few days ago? I'm sure it's perfectly fine – "

"No!" Dudley rudely cut her off. "That one sucks! It's small and doesn't turn right and the stickers look stupid! I want the new one that shoots darts and dive bombs and glows in the dark at night!!"

"Maybe I can get it for you tomorrow sweetheart – "

"NO I WANT IT RIGHT NOW!" Harry was startled into craning his neck to see what was going on. Dudley's face was quickly turning red and it looked like he was a hairsbreadth away from throwing himself to the floor, despite being fourteen years old, and screaming with all his might. _"I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT!!!!"_

"Alright, alright darling! I'll get it for you! See, mummy's going right now!" Mrs. Dursley quickly put the stick and disinfectant away and scrambled for her keys. She stared at Harry for a moment. "Off the wall!" She barked. "I'll give you one more chance. If this kitchen isn't cleaned by tea time then you'll be sleeping in the shed tonight, understand?"

"Yes, Mrs. Dursley."

She turned back to Dudley with a smile and just like that the loving mother and wife was back. She pinched his cheek and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "My precious little Dudley is so good! Mummy will be back soon with your brand new toy."

Harry waited until he heard the car pull out of the driveway before falling gracelessly to the floor, feeling safe enough to curl into a little ball and whimper quietly.

Taking a few moments to just breathe and get used to his new wounds, Harry felt he had enough of a grip on himself to go over what had just happened…and could barely believe it.

Had Dudley just…actively helped him?

The two had never been close. In fact, during most of his years in Primary School his cousin and his gang of friends would constantly bully and humiliate him. That is until Dudley had first seen his mother implement one of her harsher punishments upon him. Since then their relationship had been one of indifference – re: pretending that neither existed, which suited Harry just fine.

And yet, there Dudley stood, shuffling his feet and scuffing the previously clean floor with dirt. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, as if he were torn on what to say. He made abortive moves towards Harry, as if he were torn on what to do.

Harry could envision a world where he and Dudley started a tentative friendship. Where Dudley might help him occasionally with the housework, and sneak him scraps of food when he was being starved as punishment. Where his cousin would demand menial games or clothes from his mother before she could start beating Harry, and interrupt his father in the middle of his long rants about what a worthless burden Harry was. Where he would argue with his parents about Harry's little room, the cupboard under the stairs, and how the guest room was a much better place for Harry to sleep.

And Harry could see, with perfect clarity, his Aunt and Uncle's proud smiles toward their son; twitching slowly down and down and down…

Harry used the wall to pull himself up, and waited for the wobbliness in his legs to fade.

He gave Dudley a barely visible nod, then went over to the cabinet to retrieve all the cleaning supplies he would need to make the kitchen as sterile as a hospital room.

The seconds ticked by. Harry dutifully scrubbed the counters first…make sure there's lots of suds, wipe from side to side to reduce streaks…

Dudley turned around and left the room, the door making a soft _snick_ sound as it closed.

Harry let out a shaky breath, and wiped the counter clear of soap.

* * *

With practiced ease, Harry poured tea into the two floral print tea cups gracefully with one hand while he balanced a tray of freshly made mini quiches in the other. "Would you like any sugar or milk ma'am?"

"A splash of milk, if you please," replied Mrs. Nazbit.

The newest middle aged woman to be entertained by Mrs. Dursley was Victoria Nazbit of Number 5 Privet Drive. Granted, it looked like she was doing everything in her power to _not_ appear to be in her early forty's. Her clothing was small and tight, her hair dyed bleach blond, and by the plastic quality of her face it was likely she had had undergone multiple Botox injections.

Harry set down the silver tea kettle, not too fast so the tea wouldn't slosh and not too slow so his hand wouldn't shake, and poured a little milk into her cup. He then went about doctoring Mrs. Dursley's tea without asking, having long since memorized her preferences.

"Quiche?" Harry asked as he swiveled the tray in front of him.

Mrs. Dursley smiled benignly at him, and plucked one of the tiny pies off the tray. Harry was impressed. The expression on her face actually looked natural for once, not at all strained and reluctant like it usually was. She must have been practicing.

"Just one for me, I have to watch my figure you know," Mrs. Nazbit twittered.

"Watch your figure!? I won't here any of that! You look absolutely _gorgeous_ Victoria!"

"Do you really think so? Timothy's been hinting about liposuction lately…"

"Well he can't be talking about _you_! Perhaps he meant Mary-Ann."

"Mary-Ann Bibbs? You can't mean skinny-as-a-toothpick Mary-Ann? "

"Oh that's right, you've been in and out of town for the past few weeks haven't you? Yes, she's really let herself go since you last saw her. Why, just the other day I saw her eating a whole _pie_ by herself!"

Mrs. Nazbit was duly aghast. "Oh goodness! Tell me she was at least using a knife and fork?"

Mrs. Dursley leaned over the table slightly and said lowly, as if Mary-Ann could be near by and might be twice as offended. "Well, let's just say I've seen Gorillas at the zoo with better table manners."

They both erupted into giggles. "And I bet the Gorilla would have better use for the silverware too!" Mrs. Nazbit added in between her fits of laughter.

"Oh stop! You're so bad!"

After a few more moments of laughing at the expense of their neighbor, Mrs. Nazbit calmed enough to take a bite out of her quiche. She moaned in delight, chewing slowly as if it would allow the flavors on her tongue to last longer.

Harry allowed a slight smile to slip through his stoic butler façade. He'd been a little daring today and had tried a new recipe of his own making. He really did love cooking – one of the few chores he was forced to do that he did without mental complaint – and liked it even better when one of his inventions was well received.

"Ohhhhhhh Petunia! This is heavenly!" Mrs. Nazbit moaned in near ecstasy. "Did you make them yourself?"

"It's just a little something I cooked up earlier."

"Would you like another ma'am?" Harry asked.

"Maybe just one more…You should definitely enter this into _Gourmet_ magazine. I think they have a monthly recipe contest going on or something…"

"_Gourmet_? I don't think my little quiches would make it there."

"Nonsense! Better than the blueberry cheese cake that won last month…"

The egg timer went off in the kitchen, interrupting Mrs. Dursley in the midst of fishing for more compliments.

"Ah! That must be the fruit tarts done. Bo – Harry, go and fetch those for us, please?"

"Yes ma'am." Harry bowed before the two Ladies of Suburbia and retreated from the dining room into the kitchen, Mrs. Nazbit's twittering giggles following him.

He took out the already prepared crusts and bowls of fruit from the refrigerator, making sure that none of the chocolate lining the inside of the crusts had cracked. He then set about squeezing in the cream and artfully arranging the fruits on each one. Harry's tarts – or rather Mrs. Dursley's tarts, since all the food and recipes Harry made were claimed by her – were a favorite during these tea parties, so he couldn't be very creative with them. All the fruits had to be perfectly arranged to Mrs. Dursley's tastes…approximately two slices of kiwi, three slices of peaches, two raspberries, four blueberries, one strawberry (and God help him if the strawberry was bigger than the kiwi or smaller than the raspberries!), two blackberries, and they all had to be placed in an inward spiral counterclockwise…

Harry wondered if it was possible to be _born_ without an imagination.

"…and that nephew of yours is quite the gentleman!" Harry heard Mrs. Nazbit gush from the dining room. "I'll admit I'd heard some…_things_ about him…but I can see that none of it's true…?"

"Oh no, not at all. At least…not anymore…" Mrs. Dursley gave a long suffering sigh, as if what she was about to divulge pained her greatly. Harry knew better than that. Mrs. Dursley loved nothing more than to tell the story of how she had single handedly turned her heathen of a nephew into an upstanding citizen.

"What do you mean, Petunia?"

"Well, when he was younger he was just a horror. Always yelling and causing a fuss when he didn't get what he wanted, never doing what he was told, tormenting the neighbors and the children at school…" There was a pause. Harry presumed it was from Mrs. Dursley attempting to hold back tears.

Some sniffling noises, followed by a choked sob…or a cat hacking up a fur ball. Mrs. Dursley really needed to practice her fake crying, Harry thought, otherwise her guests would feel less sympathy for her and more of a need to send her to a veterinarian.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Victoria," Mrs. Dursley said in between delicate sniffles, "It was just such a dark time for our family…"

"Don't worry about it dear," Mrs. Nazbit cooed, probably handing her a handkerchief. "That boy seemed like a real bad apple. How ever did you get him to act right?"

"Well, Vernon wanted to send him off to St. Brutus' as soon as he was able, but I couldn't just abandon him and let him become like his parents. So I dedicated every moment I was available to teaching him proper manners and how to behave."

"That's amazing! I'm not sure I wouldn't have agreed with your husband and just sent him off to boarding school. You have a good heart Petunia."

"Thank you dear. I do hate to go against Vernon in anything, but that school is no better than a prison! The boy may be a handful but he is family."

"Hmph, speaking of family, where are the boy's parents in all of this? He's your sister's son, isn't he? Oh no! Pet, don't cry! I really seem to be sticking my foot in it today, don't I?"

After another bout of _crying_, Petunia said: "It's alright, I know you don't mean it. It's just that…I love my sister and I know she's not a bad person, not really, but…she's put our family through so much grief and I…"

"Oh, it's ok Petunia. Let it all out," Mrs. Nazbit cooed encouragingly.

"Well, my sister's never been one to make good decisions, but she got worse after she began secondary school. Started hanging out with a bad crowd – drinking and smoking and doing who-knows-what at all hours of the night! I tried to talk sense into her of course, but she wouldn't hear anything from me. And then she ran off with that awful trouble maker James Potter and one drunken tryst later she's got twins without a steady job or a complete education."

"Well I never! Still in school and having children! How completely irresponsible of them! They were still babies themselves!"

"I know, I know. So of course you can see why I had to take young Harry in. I would've liked to have their other boy too, but it was hard enough convincing them to let me keep Harry…"

"And just as well that you didn't take him in! One troubled boy is enough to drive anyone 'round the bend, but two!? You'd be drinking your headaches away by the time they finished potty training, and I wouldn't blame you one bit!"

"_Well,_ I'm not so sure about all that. I'm not Sheila Becket after all."

"Oh darling, there's no one quite like _Sheila_. Did you know the other day I was outside watering the garden and saw her drinking _scotch_ on her porch. It was seven in the _morning_ for goodness sake!"

"Hmph! How despicable…"

At that point Harry thought that his and his parents' condemnation was winding down, and time to reenter the room. Mrs. Dursley preferred that he stay out of the way while she spoke about his "reform", which was fine by him. He certainly didn't want to school his expression into gratitude and contriteness at the appropriate moments on top of everything else.

If the quiches were good, then the tarts must have been orgasmic, because some of the sounds Mrs. Nazbit was making would've been more appropriate in a bedroom. Even Mrs. Dursley couldn't hide a faintly scandalized look, and Harry was sure that Mrs. Nazbit's fetish like response to food would be _discussed_ at her next tea party with Cynthia Lennox.

"Thank you for all the help Harry. Do you mind tidying up the kitchen before you finish practice?"

"Not at all ma'am."

"Thank you d – dear." Mrs. Dursley coughed to cover up her stuttering, taking a long sip of her tea.

"Practice?"

"Piano practice. I have him play at least three times a day. A structured, positive activity helps him keep his focus," Mrs. Dursley said, as if she had written the parenting manual on how to reign in troubled kids. "I hope you don't mind. It's very important that he keeps to his schedule."

"No, no it's fine. Is he any good?"

"Well, let's just say that the student is _very_ close to surpassing the teacher," Mrs. Dursley said with an indulgent chuckle.

"Aren't you full of surprises today, Pet! Since when have you known how to play the piano?"

"My mother taught me when I was younger. I'm just glad that some of my skills have been able to help the boy in the long run. And he does seem to be catching on to it quickly; his playing makes for some lovely atmosphere."

Harry approached the upright piano with barely hidden disdain. What could potentially have been a well loved hobby had been completely destroyed by Mrs. Dursley's teaching style. His fingers twitched in remembered pain as they hovered above the keys. Hours of having his knuckles smacked for making a mistake or not playing up to Mrs. Dursley's standards, and then having to clean off his own blood from the keys, made him want to do nothing less than set fire to the infernal instrument. But he supposed it was better than standing in the middle of the room reciting poetry, as if he were some courtly orator from the sixteenth century. At least while he was playing he could tune out the two Ladies inane babble.

Chopin's Nocturne in E flat emanated from the piano without his notice. He reflected on how disturbing it was that Mrs. Dursley kept referring to his parents as if they were alive. Harry wondered how much of it was Mrs. Dursley trying to gain more pity from the neighbors or simply her being demented.

But the fact remained that there was little truth to her tale. For not only were Harry's parents dead, but they had been brutally murdered by a Dark wizard, some would say the darkest and most fearsome wizard of the age. They fought back valiantly, or so Harry heard, for they were wizards as well, trying to defend their children. But he was too powerful and so struck them down despite their efforts. Then the Dark Lord Voldemort, the name few wizards would ever dare speak aloud, leveled his wand on a then one year old Harry and his fraternal twin brother Ayden. He uttered a deadly curse that no man woman or child had ever been able to block, but when it struck Ayden, instead of dying like all others before him, the curse rebounded back to Voldemort and nearly obliterated him, leaving the Dark Lord as little more than a parasitic wraith.

Harry wondered what Mrs. Nazbit would have to say if Mrs. Dursley told her of _these_ events. Probably quite a bit, and a lot of it to the nurses at the local psychiatric hospital.

She'd certainly be the talk of the town then, Harry thought amusedly.

The story didn't end there though. His brother, now dubbed The-Boy-Who-Lived and famous throughout all of Wizarding Britain, had gone on to live with their mutual godfathers Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. And Harry…

Harry had been sent to the Dursley's.

As for why? Harry had his theories, but he valiantly tried not to dwell on them. His home life was horrific enough, there was no need to torture himself further with "What if's?"

He shook himself out of that depressing line of thinking, instead focusing on what he was going to do tomorrow. Tomorrow was July 31st, his birthday and the day he looked forward to most out of the summer. Not because there was going to be any kind of celebration or presents of course; Harry had never been given a gift in his life. Tomorrow Harry would be able to go to the hidden wizarding shopping district Diagon Alley in London to get his new books for the year and replenish his school supplies. He would have to find his own way to downtown London – as he did every year – but that was fine with him. The more time he could spend away from the Dursley household, even if the majority of that time was on the bus, was always a good thing.

"…Really? He sure doesn't have the look of a singer."

"I'm telling you the boy sings like a Nightingale. I certainly wouldn't have enrolled him into all of those voice classes if he couldn't!"

"Oh now I have to hear it to believe it."

"Well, he's a bit shy in front of an audience…but maybe we can convince him. Harry dear! Would you come in here for a moment?"

Harry's fingers twitched, briefly hitting an incorrect note. Tomorrow couldn't come any faster.

* * *

To Be Continued....


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't own diddly squat. All belongs to J.K. Rowling aside from made up spells and locations and such, that's mine in all it's useless glory.

Summary: Seen as a social outcast at best and a functional sociopath at worst, this year at Hogwarts will bring much unwanted mystery and excitement into Harry Potter's life.

Warnings: Violence, child abuse, language, mature themes, mentions of SLASH – i.e. male/male. The pairing is more or less chosen annnnd…I'm not telling till it happens. Nah nah :p

Rating: M

**Chapter 1: Miss'…**

Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express an hour before it was supposed to depart, just like he did every year. He settled himself in a compartment near the back of the train. Students rarely ventured this far because it was so close to the engine, but that suited Harry just fine.

He wanted to avoid being harassed by his classmates for as long as possible.

Even though the train wouldn't arrive in Hogsmead for several hours, Harry began to put on his uniform. The white button up shirt and charcoal grey v-neck jumper were worn but ironed, the trousers had a patch on one knee that was so evenly sewn and was of such a similar material and color that you wouldn't notice unless you were looking for it, the shoes were clean but scuffed, and the black robe was lighter in some places from age and rewashing. The only thing that didn't look in a state of disrepair was the tie, cinched tightly and perfectly knotted. The overall effect was shabby but neat.

Harry had purchased the uniform and a few duplicates when he was eleven years old; the year he had used every iota of his patience, cunning, and diplomacy to convince the parents Dursley to allow him to go to Hogwarts. He had been five feet tall at the time and quite thin. He had not grown or gained weight since then.

Health wise this was probably quite detrimental – especially in the future – but in terms of finance it was a blessing in disguise for Harry. Because he didn't need to replace his uniform he could afford most of his school supplies, which he cared a great deal more about than looking fashionable.

Despite having to penny pinch to such an extent, Harry technically wasn't poor, though from his apparel one would think he was a contemporary of Oliver Twist. His parents had left him and his brother a vault specifically for their school supplies that would last them both for ten lifetimes. And there was also several family vaults, each harboring vast riches and priceless heirlooms waiting to be inherited and split evenly amongst them both.

Sadly Harry had access to neither of these vaults. Without a magical or muggle guardian present, he could not get into the trust vault until he turned seventeen, and the family vaults were prohibited until he turned twenty-one, regardless if an adult vouched for him.

Asking the Dursley's to escort him to a vault full of gold was simply out of the question (they would try their damnedest to take everything he owned if they didn't kill him for "withholding" money that rightfully belonged to them first) and since Professors Black and Lupin weren't particularly fond of him either Harry merely dismissed the situation with little fuss and scraped the money he had earned over the years to pay for his Hogwarts supplies.

The snowy white owl, previously perched contentedly on her cage next to him, screeched and flapped her wings as the whistle from the train sounded, giving its last call to any stragglers before it took off. Harry stroked Hedwig's feathers and murmured nonsensical words to sooth her. When he first entered the Wizarding World Harry had no hope of being able to afford a pet, at least not until he got his finances in order. Which was a shame, as Harry rather liked animals and had some notions of becoming the wizarding equivalent of a veterinarian, since they seemed to be in short supply.

Imagine his surprise when the magnificent Snowy owl was given to him for free.

There was a catch of course. Apparently the owl had been a right menace ever since she had came into the store owner's possession. She attacked the other owls unprovoked, pecked at and defecated on any customer that showed the slightest interest in her, and shrieked psychotically whenever she was put in a cage. Having seen Harry, looking quite pathetic in his overlarge clothes and staring at the Owl Emporium longingly, the owner decided to do the charitable and asshole-ish thing and gave Harry the rabid beast free of charge.

The owner was not at all happy when the previously demonic bird of prey suddenly cuddled up to Harry as if it had been trained by the most prestigious owl handlers in France and Italy. But Harry was long gone before the owner could try and pawn any money off of him.

It was very unlike Harry to accept anything for free; he was all too aware that nothing in life came without a price, generally an unpleasant one at that, and the idea of receiving anything without working for it was a foreign notion to him. But he was glad to have done it. Hedwig was the first friend he ever had, and to this day the only friend. He felt a brilliant joy inwardly that his restricted facial expressions rarely showed when she met up with him every year at the train station and a sorrow that physically hurt his heart when he had to send her to the Owlry at the end of term. Harry's already lonely existence would be even more unbearable if he didn't have Hedwig by his side.

An hour or two passed in comfortable silence, with Harry reading one of his raggedy discount books he had bought at _Flinity's: Odds and Ends for the Frugal Wizard_. The pages were yellowed and practically crumbling in his hands, the handwriting was messy and words were faded in many places, and most of the spells were so esoteric that they were of no use to main stream wizardry. But they were cheap, and posed a challenge to Harry's photographic memory, forcing him to read slower as he had to figure out and in some cases guess words and sentences.

The peace was broken when the door to his compartment suddenly slammed open and two girls flounced in, giggling insanely all the while. They were both chattering so quickly that Harry could barely make out what they were saying. From what he could tell the central object of their elation was a photo they held between each other, which they were subconsciously pulling at to get a closer look.

Harry set his book aside and gave the girls his full attention. Once anyone noticed his presence their intentions ranged from indifferent to hostile so it would be in his best interest to stay alert. Oh, how he longed for the days before his brother had made him a social pariah, where people would simply ignore his existence and he could read his books in peace.

* * *

Ayden Potter looked at them in brief surprise before his expression morphed into a large grin.

He was sooooooooooooooooo cute!

Parvati pulled the picture she and Lavender had just taken closer. This shot was much better than the one Colin Creevey had sold them, which was only a close up of half his face that blurred sometimes whenever he moved, making the one eye showing look like a cow's.

She was so glad she had convinced Lav to stop being such a chicken and just take a picture of the great Boy-Who-Lived themselves. Sure, they had plenty of clips from the _Daily Prophet_ and _Teen Witch Magazine_, but there were so few in color and _none_ of them had _any_ head shots! Besides, what else was Lav going to use her camera for? Pictures of scenery? Maybe the stone wall on the second floor corridor? That didn't make them stalkers!

Oooh! His eyes were so hazel and intense! Like they could see into her _soul_.

Suddenly Parvati found the entire photo in her hand. Normally she would have ignored this phenomenon and continued basking in the greatness that was Ayden Potter, but Lav's rather frightened squeak tore her attention away from the photo and to her friend. Granted, she couldn't fathom what could be more important than the brave and handsome Ayden Pot…

An involuntary, and very un-cute, squeak escaped her lips as well. Across from them was a Slytherin, sitting up ramrod straight with his hands folded neatly in his lap and staring them in the eyes.

Without blinking.

Great, not only was the only empty compartment on the train filled by a Slytherin, but he was a creepy one too!

Parvati's stomach twisted in knots wondering what the Slytherin was going to do. Would he hex them? Lav wasn't the greatest dueler and Parvati had left her wand in her trunk. She hated the way it bulged out when she kept it in her robe pocket, and since nothing ever happened on the train she always packed it away until they reached Hogwarts. Now their lives were in danger and it was all her dad's fault for not buying her a wand holster this summer!

Lavender, never one to last long in awkward silences, finally blurted out, "Errr h-hi?"

Parvati held her breath, sure that they would be ridiculed now.

"Hello Miss Brown, Miss Patil. How are you both today?"

Parvati didn't relax, didn't let her guard down. With Slytherin's nothing was as simple as "Hi, how are you?" That was a lesson hard learned throughout their Hogwarts years. But where was it? The sarcasm, the mockery? Not like he was drawling or smirking, like that little toadstool Malfoy. Those were dead give a-ways for sarcasm, easy for her and Lav to spot anyway. There was still no expression on his face though, not even a twitch of the lips, and his tone seemed polite enough. She was no good at this double meaning stuff! This brainiac tripe was more Granger's thing; she would understand any underlying meaning in no time, and probably be able to cite three different books of the words' origin too!

"I'm er…I'm fine?" Parvati shot a glare at her best friend for once again interrupting her inner turmoil. Couldn't Lav see she was only making things worse by responding to him? At least she was trying to figure a way out of this situation without being emotionally traumatized!

"I am glad to here that." The Slytherin paused, large green eyes shifting to the side as if in thought. They were rather pretty, Parvati conceded to herself. She'd never seen anyone's eyes that shade of green before. "You may stay here if you wish; there is no one else in here but myself."

"Really? Thanks!"

"Lavender!" Parvati exploded. She pulled her closer to her by the arm, hissing marginally less loudly, "What do you think you're doing? We can't stay here!"

"But everywhere else is full."

"So! We can't stay here!"

"Why not!"

"Because!" Parvati took a nervous peak at the object of her distress, realizing belatedly how loud and insulting she was being. But he had gone back to his book, no longer giving them the time of day. Regardless, she lowered her voice, for the sake of propriety at least, "He's a Slytherin Lav!" And she gave no other explanation, because that said everything. Everyone knew that Gryffindors couldn't associate with Slytherins because Slytherins hated Gryffindors and were all sneaky, underhanded, bigoted snobs!

"But _everywhere_ else is full!"

"There was some room in Ayden Potter's compartment…" Well, if someone sat on his lap there would be room. Parvati took a moment to swoon at the possibilities…

"NO!" Lavender shrieked. "After the picture! Are you insane! No, no way!"

"Well we can't stay here –"

"We have to –"

"_But the Slytherin!_"

"I…" Lavender faltered, sneaking a peak at the object of their distress. Still reading. Still paying them no mind. "He doesn't seem that bad. Not like he's doing us any harm now, right?"

Lav had a point, she hated to admit. The Slytherin had been nothing but polite, nice even. And he was pretty puny looking; real skinny and shorter than even her and Lav! Was he a Second Year? No, his voice was a little too deep and…there was something about him – his posture? His formal speech? Only teachers and adults addressed them as "Miss" – that made him seem older, probably older than them. But this new perception of his appearance, fragile and small, made her feel better, more confident. It was two against one, after all, even if Parvati was wandless at the moment. They were Gryffindors, she reminded herself, now self-reproachful in her certainty, if the Snake wanted to start a fight then they would finish it.

So, with a huff of frustration Pravati sat down, Lavander following her less dramatically. Maybe now that the danger wasn't so imminent, they could get back to more important things...like trying to see if the picture had caught the light sprinkling of freckles across Ayden Potter's nose.

Lavender, however, found herself once again distracted from the picture. "Wait a minute, how'd you know our names?" Parvy's attention was immediately drawn from the picture at this too, the suspicion and anxiety back in her eyes.

The boy lifted his head up, that same expressionless expression on his face, and looked her straight in the eye…again. Lavender flushed and could barely resist squeaking in discomfort. Her eyes shifted to focus on the right side of his head, his chin, his small button nose – like they were dancing around, it made her feel silly, but she couldn't help it – only to treacherously be drawn back to his eyes again, to see if he was still looking…

He was still looking! What was wrong with this kid!

"We have had Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Charms together for the past three years and Care of Magical Creatures since last year."

"Well yeah but…" she was about to say '_I have no clue who you are_' but caught herself. Of course Gryffindors took some classes with Slytherins every year, but that didn't mean she knew any of them (aside from Malfoy, but that was only because he was always screaming at and picking fights with poor Ayden Potter all the time) and she assumed that none of the Slytherins knew any Gryffindors either.

But apparently that wasn't entirely the case.

Seeing that she was going to say nothing more the boy went back to his book. Despite herself Lavender felt kind of bad. Here was the only Slytherin in all of Hogwarts that was actually being civil towards them, that knew their names, and she didn't even know who he was! She glanced at Parvy to see if she had recognized him at all, but she was studiously examining the picture again, though she could tell by her bouncing knee that half her attention was on the Slytherin, waiting for him to do something mean or hurtful.

Well, both her curiosity and conscious were peeked now. She tried to surreptitiously take him in. He was pale and small, kind of delicate looking really, with pretty green eyes that might be the result of Spelltacts(**1**), and inky black messy hair. She would've called him adorable if it weren't for the underlying intimidation he gave off. It was in the way he sat, completely straight with his shoulders back as if he had never relaxed in his life, the way he looked directly at you without anxiety or concern for your anxiety, in the way he spoke in that soft, polite, monotone…What kid their age spoke like that? Like Granger without the bossy undertone of childishness, like Snape without the bitterness and mockery…

Wait, wait, wait! She knew who this was! Well, not _knew_, knew of course, but she recognized him. How could she be so thick? Though it wasn't like he made his presence widely known, and for good reason. Other than Malfoy, this was the Slytherin that Ayden was always getting into big fights with. Unlike Malfoy though, Lavender had never seen this boy go out of his way to bother him. Granted sometimes Ayden went after Malfoy on his own too, but that jerk deserved everything he got from The Chosen One and more! But in the deepest corner of her mind, where her honesty was in constant battle with paltry excuses and the need to fit in, she knew that Ayden went out of his way to prank him or call him mean names. She knew that this was Ayden Potter's much despised brother…

"I am," the boy said, the tone sounding more like 'yes silly, of course I know. But why are you stating the obvious?'

Lavender covered her mouth, a right loud slap, eyes widening. Oh drat, oh crud! She had _not_ meant to say that out loud! Parvy was gaping at her. 'You and your big mouth, Lav' she would say if she weren't so worried and gobsmacked. Her eyes did their dance again (chin, mouth, ear, eyebrow), then went back to his eyes – darn _her_ treacherous _eyes_! – to see how he took this.

But he was just there, still staring.

It was nothing that would hurt her or Parvy; she had already realized, but now accepted it. Just patient. And with this acceptance she knew he would wait for her to say something, with his polite patience, for a little while before going back to his book. No harm done, like Slytherins and Gryffindors did this all the time.

This concept was new and crazy to her. Scary but exciting! Like when she and Parvy took the picture. What if they were caught? What would people think of them? Conscious popping up: wasn't this an invasion of privacy? Excuses stamping it down: Ayden loves the attention, always willing to sign autographs and smile for newspaper photos. Peer pressure from Parvy: 'don't be such a chicken! You're making it worse than it is. Just a quick picture, it doesn't matter.' And of course there was the fun that came with doing something sort of wrong, or that doing something sort of wrong made it fun. She couldn't quite figure out which it was. It made her feel brave like Ayden, and smart like Granger, and funny like Weasley, like her and Parvy were having cool adventures too. She was getting that feeling now. Which was why she didn't want the boy, this Something Potter, to just go back to his book.

She took a deep breath, hoping it was as quiet as it sounded to her, and started with a brave question. It was a brave question because it was silly and embarrassing with just a taste of insult. "So, what's your name?" There, that sounded brash enough. But it had to be done, it was silly and embarrassing, but it was the truth. It was a Gyrffindor question. She drew herself up a little. Now give a Slytherin answer, she silently dared.

"My name is Harry," he said easily. She thought he would say, thought he should say, 'as you already know', with maybe a sardonically raised eyebrow as a finishing touch. But he didn't, he was still the polite, patient, expressionless. No tricks yet.

She just barely stopped herself from introducing herself. That would have made her look stupid. Sardonic eyebrows would have been well deserved in that case. She floundered a little with the disruption of the formulaic ice breaker. Now they needed a topic, she reminded herself, something safe. "So…" She floundered again. Think Lav. Something safe, something they could talk about for awhile. "How was your summer?"

Harry set his book aside. Lavender noticed Parvy tense a little, but she could only smile. That meant he was interested, right? '_If I can't read your face Harry Potter, then I'll have to read your actions._'

"It was…adequate," he said after a long pause. It was a strange answer, but he was a strange fellow, so she decided it suited him. "And how was yours, Miss Brown?"

Ah, now she was in her element! She had done many things this summer, many interesting exciting things that she was bursting to talk about because she so rarely had done anything other people would find interesting. The fact that his answer was short was actually a point in his favor. "It was loads of fun; we went to Italy see…"

She told him how she and Parvy had gotten tickets to see The Weird Sisters live in concert. It was amazing! They played some songs from their first album _Renegade Above Tot Magic_ – Parvy's favorite, and their third, _Double, Double, Toil Under the Fire_ – her favorite. They had front row seats. Up so close that she was able to touch Merton Graves knee cap. Parvy had even managed to rip off a piece of Donaghan's boa, and through sheer force of crazy she was able to keep it away from the other rabid fan-girls. Parvy, not at all embarrassed about her accomplishment, finally jumped into the conversation and explained how she got her precious memento in more detail.

"That must have been quite the experience. I have heard that tickets must be purchased at least two years in advance to get such good seats," Harry said.

"Actually, we didn't have to buy them at all. We won them in the _Sparky's Fruity Sparkles_ sweepstakes."

"Do you mean the one where you had to match up 865 box tops in 4 different patterns?"

Parvy grinned. "We're big Weird Sisters fans."

"What ever did you do with all of those box tops?"

Lavender colored slightly. "Well, we er, made posters out of them."

She worried that he would think they were silly and childish, but all he said was, "Very intuitive."

After that all reservation seemed to finally leave the two girls. This Harry Potter wasn't like any boy they had ever met, and it wasn't just because of his obvious oddities. When they spoke about fashion and music and other "girly" things his eyes didn't glaze over in boredom, nor did they stray to their chests. He didn't sigh and try to change the subject or put them down for their interests. He didn't nod every now and then and say "Mmhm…that's nice…isn't that something" and pretend to listen. Harry Potter seemed…genuinely interested, though he didn't say much, and easily admitted that he had "little experience with what they were talking about, but appreciated the new outlook".

This year's train ride, Parvati and Lavender would say, was odd…but in a good way.

In what seemed like no time at all the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmead station. They were both pleasantly surprised when Harry jumped off ahead of them, and then held a hanpd out, guiding them down one at a time. He did several other gentlemanly things that the two had only seen in their romance novels. When it started to rain he cast the Impervious Charm on their clothes and at a particularly muddy spot conjured a plank of wood for them to walk over so their shoes wouldn't get dirty. Once they found a carriage with some of their other friends, who were a great deal more soggy then they, he again helped them up. This time Parvati and Lavender couldn't help but giggle at the gallantry of it all.

Harry didn't join them. They wanted to invite him on, there was plenty of room for him, but one look at their friends inquisitive and annoyed faces stopped them. They were back in reality now.

"I enjoyed our conversation immensely. I hope you have a good evening Miss Brown, Miss Patil," he gave them a little bow, and then he was off to some other carriage, presumably with some other Slytherins.

The second he was out of sight their friends rounded on them with a million questions. What were you doing with that Slytherin? Were you with him on the train? How awful for you! Was he horrible? Why didn't you find someone from another House? We should tell Ayden Potter, he'll teach that Snake a lesson!

For once Lavender and Parvati were hesitant to go into detail. The more they half-heartedly tried to defend the boy, the more disbelieving their friends became. Eventually they dropped the topic all together and talked about easier things, like The Weird Sisters concert, and all the latest fashions in Wizarding Rome.

As the other girls oohed and ahhed and moaned in envy at all the right places, Lavender and Parvati put the strange Slytherin boy out of their mind.

* * *

Harry had not, in fact, joined another carriage full of Slytherins. The last time Harry had tried to sit in a carriage with his fellow students was in Second Year and he had been summarily thrown out while it was still moving. After that painful experience, unless he could find an empty carriage, which was prevented presently by his detour with Miss' Brown and Patil, he would walk all the way to Hogwarts.

Harry didn't much mind though. He was used to walking long distances in bad weather while doing errands for the Dursley's, and indeed, the weather very quickly went from a light drizzle to a down pour of icy rain. Because his clothes were so threadbare and old he had to repeatedly reapply the Impervious Charm, which resulted in him becoming dripping wet in a short amount of time. Soon all of the Comforting Charms – Warming, Cooling, Softening and others – would fail all together, as that type of magic was closely tied to the condition of the fabrics. This was going to be a problem soon; Harry was easily chilled and sickly, and the castle was quite cold throughout the first term and for most of the second. He concentrated on what he was going to do about this latest wardrobe issue for the remainder of his walk in effort to distract himself from the freezing cold and what happened on the train. If he thought too much about either topic it would only lead to more pain and disappointment

Soaked to the bone and shivering despite several drying and warming charms, Harry finally arrived in the Great Hall. He took a seat near the end of the table near the newly sorted first years, noting the space for this year's Defense Against The Dark Arts professor was filled. Looking more grizzled, paranoid, and missing a few more limbs than his older photo portrayed in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_, was the retried Auror Alastor Moody. From what he had read and heard about the man he would certainly be better suited to the post than last year's teacher. Granted, a wet noodle could teach better than Professor Strident, but Moody's more or less verified credentials gave Harry more hope.

As he started to eat a few of the scraps left over from the main course several Slytherins and a few Ravenclaws snickered at his appearance, but he was otherwise ignored. Everyone seemed preoccupied with whatever announcement Headmaster Dumbledore had made before he arrived. Harry was a little shocked at the excited murmurings of the Triwizard Tournament being hosted at Hogwarts. From what he had read the European Ministries had disbanded it in 1792 and with good reason too. The last Tournament officially held had resulted in the deaths and injuries of over 200 spectators via a Minotaur, not to mention the immediate disemboweling of the Champion it was originally pitted against. And this was during a time when there was a much higher standard of education. If what his classmates were saying was true, Harry greatly hoped that the Tasks had been made suitable to this generation's magical ability.

Later that night in the Slytherin Common Room, Harry closed the book he had been reading earlier with a satisfied sigh, finally finished. This one had been quite the challenge as there were several torn pages crammed into random parts of the book, some of them still incomplete and some Harry deduced didn't even belong to this particular text. The next book he was going to tackle should be even better. According to the store owner it had been translated from the original Greek into Latin incorrectly, and then that translation was translated into French, again incorrectly, only to be yet again translated by a botched translating Spell into English. It was damn near illegible, Harry thought happily, the excited glee he felt over facing such a challenge actually causing his lips to twitch into a smile and his eyes to brighten.

Harry stood up and stretched, dousing the flames in the fireplace with a lazy flick of his wand. When he arrived in the Fourth Year Boys Dormitory all of his dorm mates were fast asleep. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott both had the forest green curtains closed around their beds; Draco Malfoy's bed curtains were half open, revealing his tightly cocooned form amidst silk sheets, a thin line of drool rolling down his chin and onto his pillow; Vincent Crabbe's curtains were wide open showing the boy to be sprawled out above the covers, one leg hanging off the bed and twitching with his dreams; and Gegory Goyle was curled into a tight ball, his stuffed niffler on the floor.

Harry closed the small gap in Mr. Zabini's curtains, opened up Mr. Nott's curtains slightly, used a banishing charm to wipe away the drool on Mr. Malfoy and gently turned him on his back so no more would escape, tucked Mr. Crabbe into his blankets, and placed Mr. Nibbles back into Mr. Goyle's embrace.

He countered the stinging hexes from his curtains, the bodily slime inducing potions on his pillow, the wooly hair extension curse on his blankets, and the general chilling charm around his area of the room.

Harry climbed into his bed and set up a ward to deflect the curses he had dispelled and more. For a while he simply stared up at the canopy over his bed. No one had bothered him during the Welcoming Feast, a dangerous Tournament after being disbanded for two centuries was now being hosted at Hogwarts, and for the first time in his four years as a student here he had engaged in pleasant conversation with his fellow students.

'_Is this a sign of coming good fortune or foreboding?_' Harry did not contemplate on the matter for long as he quickly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

(**1**) Spelltacts = Contacts. Heh, ain't I just clever?

A/N: Yeah…this chapter is a long time in coming, oh like nearly a year… No excuses really, just the usual school, work, school again, and life in general. I'm sure you've all been there or are currently there. But the fact that this has finally popped up after so long is a good sign, right? Ehh, it would be best for everybody if you just took it that way. Eh heh heh.

Anywho! This chapter is again more character development than action, but not to worry that should be coming up soon enough. I know the Twin-Who-Lived concept is cliché as hell but I am absolutely in love with what I have planned out for it, and I hope you all like my twist to this tried and true concept too. I'd also like to thank you thank you thank you for the reviews! The Magician is quite happy with the feedback so far, even though there is not much to critique. I'd love to hear what you love and hate about this fic so far!

**Next Chapter**: We finally meet Ayden, We see Harry in the classroom, and the other two schools arrive.


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